The Buccaneers' Code (9 page)

Captain Wolfson considered the waves lapping at his ankles. “And you think you can help us?”

“I'm sure of it,” said Hilary, “if only you'll give me a chance.”

“Take cover!” shouted one of Wolfson's mates. A cannonball splashed down only a few yards from where the captain was standing, drenching him and his crew. Slowly, blinking the salt from his eyes, he wrung out his impressive coat.

“All right,” he said at last. “I'll give you that chance. Send down the rope.”

Hilary did exactly that, and one by one the northern pirates swung themselves over the
Pigeon
's starboard rail. They dripped all over the deck, they smelled of wet fur and smoked herring, and they lobbed salty insults at the naval officers despite Miss Greyson's protests. All in all, they seemed to be in much better spirits now that they were no longer ankle-deep in seawater.

“Listen here, pirates!” Jasper called over the din. “I hate to dampen the mood, but I believe that navy ship is preparing to fire on us.”

It was true: the cannon that had once pointed at the northern pirates' sinking ship was now aimed directly at the
Pigeon.
“Attention, interlopers!” one officer called out. “Surrender your comrades by the count of ten, or we'll blast the entire lot of you into a thousand bits.” He sounded very much as if he meant it.

“Say the word, Captain,” said Jasper, “and I'll have the
Pigeon
out of these waters in three beats of a parrot's wing.”

“One!” said the naval officer.

Hilary looked over at Charlie, who was still helping pirates in furs climb onto the ship. “We can't leave yet!” she called back. “We've got a few more left to rescue.”

“Two!” said the officer.

The gargoyle gave Hilary a look. “All of this counting makes me very uncomfortable.”

“Don't worry,” Hilary said as confidently as she could. “We're not sunk yet.” She leaped over the stack of china plates, kicked aside the pile of newspapers, ran across the ship, and plucked the magic gravy boat from the deck.

“Three!” said the officer.

“Magic,” Hilary said, “please bring me . . .” She hesitated. The gravy boat was too small to provide much in the way of weaponry, and Hilary wasn't at all sure she was strong enough to conjure up anything truly fearsome.

“Four!” said the officer.

“Oh, bother!” said Hilary. “Magic, please bring me something that will stop that ship from firing on us—and do it quickly!”

The gravy boat shook in Hilary's hands and drew the strength from her limbs. She squeezed her eyes shut as the naval officer called “Five!” Then a thud shook the deck, and she opened her eyes.

Standing in front of her was an enormous white pitcher that looked as though it belonged to a giant's tea service. It came up to Hilary's waist and was painted with delicate blue cornflower sprigs. Instead of containing something sensible like milk or cream, however, it was filled with a thick, dark liquid that trembled with every passing wave.

With something very much like reverence, the others gathered around the pitcher. “What
is
it?” Alice whispered.

Miss Greyson sniffed the liquid. Then she removed one of her mittens, dipped a finger into the pitcher, and
tasted the results. “Molasses,” she said. “Blackstrap, to be precise.”

Hilary groaned. “I knew I should have been more specific.”

“Excuse me,” called the naval officer. “Are you pirates paying attention? I said seven!”

“Hold your horses!” said Captain Wolfson. He scowled at the officer. Then he turned back to the pitcher and leaned so far over it that Hilary worried he would tumble inside. She had already rescued him from a sinking ship, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to save him from a vat of molasses as well.

“Hmm,” said Captain Wolfson. “We can use this.” He drew a handful of gold coins from the pocket of his coat and mumbled a few words.

Without excusing itself or bidding farewell, the pitcher rose up from the deck and floated slowly, but with great determination, toward the navy ship. “Eight!” cried the officer. “Nine! And what in the world is that? Are those
cornflowers
?”

The pitcher picked up speed. It circled the navy ship, settled comfortably a few feet above the deck, and tipped itself over like a gentleman bowing at a High Society ball. A thick stream of molasses poured out of the pitcher, covering the cannon, the ammunition crates, and (judging by his cries of outrage) the boots of the naval officer. His crewmates abandoned the cannon and ran to help him,
but they only succeeded in sticking themselves to the deck.

The northern pirates slapped their legs, gripped their sizable stomachs, and laughed uproariously. Jasper was laughing too, and even Miss Greyson let a smile settle on her lips. Captain Wolfson bowed to his mates and turned to Hilary. “I owe you an apology,” he said to her. “It seems that even the most fearsome pirates in the Northlands need to be rescued every once in a while.”

One of Wolfson's mates tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir,” he said, “that's the Terror of the Southlands you're speaking to. Didn't you read Blacktooth's notice?”

The laughter faded away, and Hilary's hopes faded with it. She wondered if the northern pirates would jump over the ship's rails and into the sea now that they knew who she was, or if they'd simply back away and look in every possible direction to avoid meeting her gaze. Either way, she wasn't eager to see it.

“I've read Blacktooth's notice,” said Captain Wolfson. Then, to Hilary's amazement, he smiled at her. “I've also decided to ignore it. If the Terror hadn't lent us her assistance, we'd all be halfway to the ocean floor by now. Isn't that right?” He narrowed his eyes at his mate.

“Yes, sir.” His mate stood up a bit straighter and held out a hand to Hilary. “Er, thank you, Terror. That was a nice bit of magic you managed.”

“You're quite welcome,” said Hilary. She shook his
hand, and then she shook Wolfson's. “Thank you for being brave enough to look me in the eye.”

Before long, all the pirates on the
Pigeon
were busy making their introductions and trading tales. The gargoyle had just offered to read aloud from his memoirs when he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the ship's hull. “Attention, lawless hooligans!” someone shouted. “I demand to speak with your captain!”

Hilary leaned over the ship's rail and looked down at the naval officer, who floated below her in a blue and gold dinghy. He looked quite annoyed—probably because the bottom half of him was still coated with molasses. “Go get your captain, little girl!” he said.

“I
am
the captain,” said Hilary. “And you are a nuisance. What do you want now?”

“I want to complain,” the officer said. “You ruined a perfectly good battle. You destroyed a top-of-the-line cannon and several expensive pairs of boots. Your choice of weaponry was thoroughly untraditional, and as if that weren't enough, you've made us fall short of our monthly pirate-capturing quota. I promise you the Royal Navy won't forget this.”

Hilary believed him, for her father had often boasted of the navy's ability to hold a grudge. “If you're so concerned about pirates,” she said, “why in the world are you sailing about in the Northlands? I hear Captain Blacktooth's men
are threatening to attack Queensport; shouldn't you be trying to stop them? Or has the navy decided there's no point in trying to be useful for a change?”

“You clearly know nothing about the Royal Navy's affairs,” the officer said. “Typical pirate ignorance. We are all under strict orders not to attack any ship belonging to Captain Blacktooth or his friends.” With a molasses-stained hand, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick stack of papers. “Any pirate ship on this list may sail freely in the kingdom's waters until Admiral Curtis says otherwise.”

“But that makes no sense at all,” said Hilary. “Did those orders come from Admiral Curtis himself?”

“Of course they did.” The officer held up the papers. “As you can see perfectly plainly, the orders were signed by naval adviser James Westfield on Admiral Curtis's behalf. And I'll warn you, pirate, that your ship is not on his list.”

“Of course it isn't,” Hilary murmured. “Blast and double blast.”

The officer raised his eyebrows. “What did you say?”

“I said that you'd better head back to your ship at once,” said Hilary, “before I pour another pitcher of molasses on you.”

To her relief, the officer made a hasty retreat, and his ship soon sailed away as fast as the wind could carry it. Captain Wolfson kept an eye on it until it had disappeared
over the horizon. “Do you think they're off to badger some other poor scallywags?” he asked.

“I'm sure of it,” Hilary replied. Now that Blacktooth's loyal pirates were preparing to fight against her and her father had done nothing except lend them the Royal Navy's assistance, the High Seas suddenly seemed a good deal more perilous than usual.

“Ah well,” said Wolfson. “It's fortunate that we pirates enjoy a good battle—as long as we win, of course.” He looked wistfully at his longship, which sank farther under the sea with every passing wave.

“I'm sorry about your ship, sir,” said Hilary. “Jasper says we've got no hope of repairing it, but I'd be happy to bring you and your mates back to shore.”

“Aye,” said Wolfson, “that would be grand. You're welcome to join us for dinner, of course. I don't know about you, but all that molasses has put me in the mood for gingerbread.”

PIRATE HILARY WESTFIELD
TERROR OF THE SOUTHLANDS

Dear Claire,

I write this sitting in a pirates' feasting hall. A feasting hall, I have discovered, is quite like Westfield House on the cook's day off: the air is filled with panicked shouts and the smell of something burning. Miss Greyson tried to enlist me to tend the fire, but I escaped to a far corner of the hall with my pen and paper before she could make any chiding remarks.

How have your magic lessons been? I haven't heard any reports of vast explosions destroying half of Pemberton, so you must be doing awfully well. I'm afraid things aren't going nearly as smoothly out here on the High Seas. We've made it all the way to the top of the kingdom, but we haven't managed to convince a single pirate to sail into battle against Captain Blacktooth. If these northern pirates refuse to join us as well, I'm not sure what I'll do. We'll have to turn southward soon if we're to have any
hope of meeting our mates in Wimbly-on-the-Marsh next month, and I'm beginning to think we'll be a hundred and fifty pirates short when we get there. On top of it all, it seems that Father has managed to trick the entire Royal Navy into following his orders. I'd write a note to the queen if I believed it would do any good, but I'm not sure anyone in the kingdom is capable of stopping the Mutineers from plucking up whatever they want. They are just like the rabbits that live in Jasper's vegetable garden, only with smaller ears and more cannons.

Oh dear. I don't mean to be discouraging. I still have every intention of defeating Captain Blacktooth and seeing you become Enchantress. A good pirate always comes up with a plan, and so will I—even if it doesn't occur to me until I'm lying on my lumpy cot at the Pestilent Home for Foul-Tempered Pirates.

I miss you very much, and the gargoyle tells me he misses you too. I suspect that Charlie sends his regards, though I'm quite sure he'd never admit it.

Arr! and love from

Hilary

From

The Augusta Scuttlebutt

WHERE HIGH SOCIETY TURNS FOR SCANDAL

What happens when a beloved High Society figure transforms overnight from hostess to hostage? To find out, we visited the Northlands home of Mrs. Georgiana Tilbury. Although Mrs. Tilbury has been kept prisoner in her home since midsummer, she maintains a full social calendar that many law-abiding citizens would envy. “Am I bored? Never!” laughed Mrs. Tilbury from the comfort of her solarium. “Lately, I have been spending time preparing for my daughter's upcoming wedding to Sir Nicholas Feathering. I recently hired several hundred birds from across the kingdom to chirp Mozart's horn concertos during the ceremony. And of course I try to keep up with my charitable works. Why, just yesterday, I hosted a gathering of the Coalition of Overprotective Mothers, of which I am chairwoman. We are concerned by rumors that a common young woman without elegance or taste is next in line for the position of Enchantress, and several of our members are planning to visit the Royal Palace to remind the queen that government posts are most suitably filled by members of High Society.”

Under Augustan law, Mrs. Tilbury is not permitted to leave her mansion, and a royal guard is stationed on the grounds at all times. However, we observed a flurry of activity at Tilbury Park on the afternoon we visited. Several friends and family members were in attendance, as was a former admiral of the Royal Navy. Though we tried to learn the nature of their business with Mrs. Tilbury, we learned instead that the doors of Tilbury Park are thick and quite unsuitable for eavesdropping.